


I'll spend my days so close to you

by Jaskiers_BrokenLute



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Depression, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, breif mentions of suicide, but not really, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:15:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22978972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaskiers_BrokenLute/pseuds/Jaskiers_BrokenLute
Summary: "Jaskier didn't actively try to bring death upon himself, stopped bring a blade down upon himself, even when he was sure he would never feel again. He wouldn't cause his death himself, there's no honor, no death fit for a bard, no story to be told in a death like that.But he didn't see out protection, took what he wanted, despite the repercussions."OR Jaskier is dealing with depression and Geralt is trying to do better
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 29
Kudos: 268





	1. Chapter 1

Jaskier didn't actively try to bring death upon himself, stopped bring a blade down upon himself, even when he was sure he would never feel again. He wouldn't cause his death himself, there's no honor, no death fit for a bard, no story to be told in a death like that.   
But he didn't see out protection, took what he wanted, despite the repercussions. 

He would sleep with married men and women to feel wanted, to halt the loneliness deep inside his bones if only for a few hours and wouldn't fight back when angry cuckolds came around, equally reveling in the pain of the bruises and breaks that he would press on or re-open for days to come, to feel something, and to remind himself that someone had noticed him enough bring him pain. He was seen, wanted by a wife and hated by a husband, it was a way to feel. 

The rest of the time, he would wear his mask, one that he's worn for so long that not even the closest person to him knew it was a lie. He spoke endlessly so that the thoughts in his head has no room to surface. It hurt when he knew Geralt was annoyed with is endless blabbering and he could hardly blame him, but it hurt less than the memories that would surface is he let his mind wander. 

He can't remember the last time he felt real pure happiness, not the fake giddiness he wore exhaustingly day in and day out, but real, smile-to-your-eyes-happiness. Performing was as close as he got to it these days. Playing songs that he wrote, dancing around the taverns and ballrooms, gaining fame and coin alike. It was the only pride he could gain from being alive.   
People had stopped pelting with food and the occasional mug or stone, now they sang and clapped along, it was as amazing as it was dis-concerting.   
But they didn't see him, they saw the lyrics, they saw Geralt fighting and defeating the monster. Those were the only songs people wanted anymore.   
To be fair, Jaskier was incredibly proud of these songs, he was happy to be showing the truth about Geralt and making people happy, but he was more invisible in his performances than he'd ever been. 

Before his songs would be pulled from himself, a way to get rid of even a bit of the horribleness that lives inside of him, they always came out slow, sorrowful, truth-filled songs that drunks and tavern keepers didn't want to hear while they drank and tried to rid themselves of similar moods. Now he was heard, not seen, simply a tool in the people's need for entertaining stories and something to celebrate. 

He finished his performance with a smile, feeling flat and empty, more so that usual.   
He could feel his resolve breaking, why would it matter if he stopped faking?  
Who at all would notice if he stopped and let himself with a way into the nothing he already feels? No one would care, another bard could sing his songs, no one saw the face behind the music anyway, and his voice isn't anything special. 

Geralt would be better off for it, he could finally leave him behind and have his blessed peace, not have to worry about loud, aggravating bards endlessly following him around if he let that dark hole that stared him in the eyes finally swallow him.   
How he longed to stay asleep every time he waked up, it wasn't truly his own doing if dehydration took him when he refused to wake up. 

Geralt could leave him, he'd perish eventually, run out of coin and starve, freeze as the winter took over the land, there's no preference in this sort of thing. He'd tried to choose accelerated death, following a witcher seemed to be a sure-fire way to find his end, a monster would get him or the witcher would grow tired of him and do him off personally. 

Of course, when he first came up with this plan it was still instilled him that witchers were unfeeling and cut down anything in their way. But then he met Geralt and he wasn't at all what the tales said, he had a heart, he was caring, more than he would ever admit, did so much more, endured for more that people saw and kept helping them even when he constantly run out of towns, under-payed, and despised. He was even sweet, to a chosen few who got to see that side of him, lucky enough to see his smile.   
It seemed he had the capacity to care, enough to keep Jaskier out of the end that he sought out, but not enough to like him. Not enough to even call him his friend, only every caring enough to stop him from dying an untimely death. Perhaps it wasn't even caring, only some twisted, forced sense of obligation, a want to not have any more blood on his hands than he needed.   
He only ever succeeded in tearing Jaskier apart, for every sign that Geralt hated him, Jaskier despised himself a bit more. Geralt made his heart ache, and he followed him anyway like he deserved the pain it brought him, hoping Geralt would slow just enough for him to become collateral damage. 

Perhaps it's selfish to hope Geralt feels guilt, or loss, maybe even grief. Maybe it's selfish to hope he'll be painfully mourned and missed by at least one person. He would never wish pain upon Geralt, he cared too much and wasn't naive enough to think Geralt would care at all if he died, but it was a comforting thought, to be remembered. 

Today was one of the rare occasions where they could afford two rooms, a splurge on coin that they didn't indulge in often, but Jaskier sometimes needed to take his mask off, to drop the act and allow himself to lie on the bed, under his exhausted mind and indulge in what he longed for, to not exist. No one thought of him, he was not but a consciousness at this moment, he let his thoughts come in and begged his body fr some sort of defense against said thoughts until he found that he couldn't even cry. He could only lie there and ache, a dry, yellowing bruise sort of pain that pushed down on his chest and broke him down. 

He wishes the decision was his own, that he had some sort of control over the part of his life, or any part of it for that matter, but he hadn't a single hand-hold of grounding in this life.   
It was hardly a decision as much as it was a demand, a fact, that he'd given up, hit rock bottom and couldn't dig out.

Hopefully, Geralt will leave without question when Jaskier didn't meet him in the morning. That would hurt, gods how that's going to hurt may be enough to feel more than the ever-present sting. 

He can't help but wonder how he'll die, now that he's given up. He'd surely be kicked out of the inn soon, maybe nature would take him, maybe he'd learn how cruel humanity could be.   
For now, all he wants is a dreamless sleep, rest, and for once destiny had offered him mercy as he drifted off into the silent darkness of unconsciousness. 

The downside of dreamless sleep is it feels like no time has passed when you wake up like you've blinked and nothing more. He didn't feel any less exhausted than he had, not that he expected any different at this point. 

"Jaskier?" Geralt's deep rumbling voice spoke from past the door, along with a few strong knocks. Jaskier ignored him, hoping it would make him leave, no matter how much it hurt and how much he fought himself no to let go of the only good thing in his life. His teeth bit into his bottom lip with the sheer force of staying silent against Geralt's calls. It felt like lying to himself, he'd never been able to deny Geralt of anything, never could, and it felt so desperately wrong. 

"I'm coming in, Jaskier,"

He wants to stand up, rush to the door and tell him it was fine, he just slept later than usual.   
Instead, all he could do was stare at the wall, not even allowing himself to look at Geralt, his presence already overwhelming enough in this state. 

He walked inside and closed the door behind him, staring at the end of the bed for a moment, taking in Jaskier's still form. Knowing nothing of the storm brewing inside his friend at the idea of being seen like this by the only person that mattered anymore.   
He wasn't asleep for as much as he looked like he was, his eyes were open, but he looked far away and in an almost non-existent way that hung over his eyes like an invisible fog: sad. 

Maybe he was sick, but he'd been fine the day before, didn't show any signs of sickness at all.   
Confused, Geralt rounded the bed and gently layed the back of his hand against Jaskier's forehead, the smaller man didn't react at all, simply letting it happen, the only indication that he'd even noticed was him closing his eyes when Geralt's hand made contact with his skin. 

Geralt found no excess heat or sweat coming off the bard, hummed to himself quietly as he pulled his hand away. 

"I'm not ill," 

Geralt almost wondered if it were Jaskier speaking, his voice was completely flat, a far cry from his usual flamboyant, emotion-filled way of talking.   
He stepped back a bit, the look and sound of Jaskier sending a sudden shock through his chest, he's never seen him anything but bursting with energy and excitement, the abrupt change was worrying, to say the least. He'd made a short mental list of contracts they'd been on recently that could have left Jaskier unwell or hurt in some way but again, came up empty and without something to blame his state one.   
Part of him wanted to tell Jaskier that he was leaving now, with or without him just to get the bard out of bed and back to himself, but the bigger, smarter part of him knew that whatever had changed the bard so drastically, so quickly, must be too serious to solve with forcing him onto the road. Somehow, he knew that Jaskier would have simply let him leave, which he wouldn't have done anyway. 

Instead, he sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to crush Jaskier, and tried his very hardest to channel any socially adept part of him that would be able to talk to Jaskier without it sounding like the act brought him pain. 

"Are you okay?" He managed, his voice sounding at least sincere enough to his ears that maybe Jaskier would hear the effort he was putting in. 

"No," He answered simply, how a single word could say so much Geralt would never understand, but he did know that he hates how defeated Jaskier sounds, as if 'not okay' was all that he's felt in a long time and he was tired. But that wasn't him, he couldn't fathom the idea of Jaskier feeling like this and him not noticing hen the bard could take a single look at Geralt after a long day and know exactly how he felt and how to soothe him. 

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing you need to worry about Geralt, you should go." He barely moved as he spoke, on Jaskier it looked like he was dead already, just waiting for his mind to catch up. 

"No," He answered quickly. 

"No?" He had no right to sound surprised at the thought of Geralt not abandoning him at the first chance, but then again, Geralt had never given him a reason to think otherwise. 

"I'm not leaving without you," Even though he meant it and felt it the words felt wrong leaving Geralt's mouth. He was never supposed to need anyone, and yet, here he was; refusing to leave an inn because his bard wasn't okay. 

Jaskier only sighed and rolled over to look up at the ceiling. Why was Geralt making this harder than it already was? This is what he wants, why can't he just leave?

"What if I wanted you to leave?" He tried, already tired with the effort it took to hold a conversation, pushing away Geralt as it tore at his soul. 

"I wouldn't believe you." He answered honestly, stealing a glance at Jaskier's face now that it was properly in his line of sight.   
His eyes were what hit the hardest, those beautiful eyes looked so empty like he'd been drained of his life force and was left with a shell of what had been. Geralt wanted a way to kill whatever it was that was taking his friends hope away from him, that's the only way he knew to solve problems, he couldn't fight off monsters that didn't exist and it hurt to see Jaskier so empty of all that he'd been. He refused to believe all of it had never really been there in the first place. 

"Please," Geralt had never known heartbreak, whether it was real or not, but the sensation that filled him when the broken word reached his ears was as close as he'd ever been to it. 

"Why?"

"I can't do it anymore," He answered with the same broken voice that spoke his last plea. 

"Can't do what?" If the traveling or hunting was affecting Jaskier like this they could make more stops, save more coin to bring Jaskier to inns more often, they could work it out. But they couldn't part like this. 

"All of it, live I guess." He said with a laugh that sounded like it had been punched out of him.

"What do you mean?" 

Very few things scared Geralt these days, but this, the ugly truth terrified him to his core. 

"I'm tired, and I keep fucking waking up like this forcing myself to act like everything is great. I don't even know who I am anymore. I'm tired of being tired when all I want to do is sleep, I'm tired of knowing no one's going to notice when I finally don't wake up," He curled in on himself and bit out the words, almost relieved that they weren't festering in his mind anymore, but hating the silence that hung over the room. 

"I'd notice," Geralt spoke after a few minutes when he could find it in him to speak, and his chest wasn't so constricted. He should have done more, or at the very least noticed earlier, is all he can think. 

"No you wouldn't, you'd know I was gone but you wouldn't notice," He laughed again as if the thought of Geralt caring for him was so far fetched it was amusing. 

"I'm not good at showing it, but I would notice. It would be too quiet without you,"

"You like quiet."

"Before you I did,"

And Jaskier broke, silent tears began slowly down his cheeks, it isn't fair, why should Geralt care about him now? He found that there was nothing he could say, no thought he could string together, he can only cave into himself and cry.   
Geralt layed down beside him, didn't touch him, just a presence beside him to show clearer with actions than any words Geralt could manage that he was there.   
"You're tired? Then we'll rest, as long as you need, here or somewhere else. I know who you are, and it's okay."  
He knows a bit of how it feels, to not be seen other than for what he does, and knowing that no one would notice beyond that is he was gone. But Jaskier saw past this, noticed him and made other people see past the butcher and see Geralt of Rivea, the white wolf. But more than that, he'd never been afraid of him, he's always seen Geralt. He may not be very good at this, but he would like to return the favour somehow.

Jaskier cried harder, it felt good, he felt alive, like he was telling the truth for the first time in years. They rested, Jaskier cried and Geralt stayed beside him, not leaving and really seeing Jaskier for the first time. 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier can't understand why Geralt is still here, and Geralt is realizing that he'll have to work to get his bard back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter, but chapter 3 will be longer and sadder :,)

The days are slow, Jaskier lies in bed for two days and nights, getting up to relieve himself and nothing more. Geralt made him drink water as much as he could, trying but failing to get him to eat.   
On the third day, Geralt gets Jaskier out of bed. He kneels by the pillows and pushes a few greasy locks away from his face. 

"You need a bath," He started, smiling softly when Jaskier nodded. 

Geralt had a bath brought up as quickly as possible, not caring for the coin he was loosing staying in this room for days, including food and now this, it didn't matter in the slightest if he went poor from this. Jaskier mattered more than coin. 

"For someone who's been in bed for days you look tired," Geralt spoke, half-joking but there was no denying it was the truth. His eyes were bruised deep blue and red, his movements were sluggish and unenthusiastic, but he was up, which was a battle in itself. Even if Geralt didn't understand, he still felt pride in the small achievement. 

"It'll get cold," Geralt said, motioning to the tub that Jaskier had been staring at for the past few minutes. He doesn't want to go through the trouble of it all, as much he enjoyed a nice hot bath, especially given the circumstances. But now all he can think of is the effort of undressing, washing, drying, re-dressing, all he wanted to do now was get back in bed and sleep.   
But Geralt was looking at him so gently, patiently waiting for him to be ready, he'd been so patient these past few days, more so than he'd ever been. He could almost believe he cared for him more than Jaskier originally thought. He wants to show his appreciation for this, but he's just so fucking tired, so guilty that Geralt is wasting his time with a lost cause. 

Rather than saying any of this, he nodded again and slowly pulled his shirt off, dropping it unceremoniously to the ground beside him, ready for him to put back on as soon as he was finished. His trousers and pants came next, joining the jerkin on the ground. He climbed into the tub, sighing as the hot water met his tired body. 

"You can't wear these. Do you have other clothes?" Geralt had been avoiding saying anything that would require a verbal answer from Jaskier out of the very little he spoke anyway, seeing that Jaskier (disturbingly) wasn't in the mood for talking. 

"In the pack," He replied, not wanting to dirty anything else, but not up for arguing with Geralt either. 

"I'll have these ones sent to wash," 

"That's a waste of coin, just leave them." He was already dealing with the guilt from Geralt even staying here for this long, he didn't need anything else added on top of that, and he didn't see himself needing a change of clothes any time soon, he couldn't see into the future at all, not even a few hours. He saw what was now, what he would have to do because of now and that was it when you don't care whether you're alive or dead the future seems for naught. 

"It's not a waste." He chided quickly, "But I can get a contract if you're okay being alone for a day or two," He offered. 

Geralt had caught word of possible employment in the next town over but held off, afraid that if he left, Jaskier wouldn't be here when he got back.

"You should go,"

"That's not what I was asking." It doesn't sit right with Geralt, leaving at all, but with confirmation from Jaskier that he would be alright he could at least trust the bard's word instead of trying to reassure himself. 

"Have I been okay while you were here?" He knows it's not fair to Geralt, he doesn't know what he's doing, trying his best to help. But he still needs to understand that he's past being helped, hopefully, he'll see the futility in his actions soon. 

Geralt sighed and put the dirty clothes into the corner of the room, replacing them with clean under-clothes from Jaskier's pack, not bothering with an actual outfit when he was only going to go back to sleep once he was out of the bath. 

It was unfairly frustrating to see Jaskier like this, he already wasn't good at helping people when they were sick or sad, or whatever was wrong with him, and now it seemed impossible. Jaskier had already given up on himself, how can Geralt, of all people, do anything for him now?

Determination is all he has, at least to get Jaskier back on route with their travels, maybe actually living would help him. If not, he'd try something else. It was a guessing game, a dangerous roulette, playing with Jaskier's life. He is far from used to being constantly worried like this, he knew it would take its toll on him eventual. It was so selfish to think, when Jaskier was worse off, how it would affect him in the future, but it was hard not to prepare for the worst when Jaskier acted like he was simply waiting to burn out. 

"I'll go then, just to the next town. I'm leaving Roach if you need anything ride her to me, okay?"  
He sat by the side of the tub to look at Jaskier as he spoke to him. 

"Okay," He responded, meeting Geralt's gaze just long enough to show he's heard him. 

"I'll be back soon, be here." He surprised himself with how vulnerable he sounded, but after all the time he's spent being insincere with the man, it felt owed. 

"Okay," He repeated. 

"Jaskier," He sounded a bit more stern, waiting there until Jaskier met his eyes, placing his hand on top of Jaskier's smaller one when he did, "Be here."

Jaskier stared into Geralt's eyes, he hates how much he cares, how comforting the touch was. Being like this was so much easier when there was no one around to care. 

"I will," He responded, meaning it this time. Geralt seemed satisfied with the answer and stood up, starting to collect the few supplies he would need for any basic contract since he still didn't really know what he was getting himself into. 

With one last look at Jaskier and a prayer in his mind that it wouldn't be the last time he could look at him, he left. His stomach twisted into knots the second the door was closed and he almost walked right back inside, payment be damned, he could find coin somewhere closer and keep Jaskier safe here, with him. But he knew he couldn't, and simply promised himself to come back as soon as possible, knowing Jaskier would be safe inside just as he left him. 

Jaskier got out of the bath when the water grew cold, not bothering to wash up and not caring either way. He pulled on the clean clothes and slipped back into bed as if he'd collapse is he didn't return to the spot. 

He felt gross, worse off than he'd been. It was disgusting, he was disgusting, there's no reason to be here, he hates that he promised it to Geralt to be here, he hated that he felt he owed him anything. But the alternative, he couldn't ever do that to Geralt, not after he'd promised him, after all that Geralt's been trying to do. He promised Geralt to be here, which in itself felt like a lie.   
'Jaskier' was far away somewhere, as good as dead to the world. He felt like Julian again, like that lost little boy who was only still here today because Oxenfurt had given him a second chance, had introduced him to music. He felt like Julian before anything saved him. 

******

Geralt made it to his destination slower than he usually would have, the sun close to setting when he finally found the contract holder. They had a nest of drowners in the lake, it had been dragging passing people to the bottom for a week now. If he'd have taken the contract when he first heard of it half of the victims would still be alive today, and still, he didn't regret it. Jaskier needed him, and he came first, always. 

On the flip side of the tragedy that had been unraveling, the people of the town had become desperate to rid the lake of the monsters, the reward for their deaths had raised considerably. 

Geralt took half of the payment upfront and told the contract holder he would take care of the nest tomorrow, even with his abilities taking on an unknown number of drowners in the dead of night was unwise. 

The man thanked him, which was a bit unusual compared to how he was usually treated, but then he referred to Geralt as the 'white wolf' and it all made more sene. Every since Jaskier had started traveling with him and wrote that song, people had been less weary to ask for help and to thank him when they did. He was turned out of fewer towns and not withheld decency. The bard had done much more for him than he could ever repay, in moments like these when the realization hit he wanted nothing more than to be back beside him and thank him the way he never had and should have for all that he's done. 

He pulled was from his thoughts when the man began to give Geralt directions to the nearest inn, he pretended to listen and took his leave, opting to walk just outside of town and make camp for the night, saving all the coin he could, not knowing how long Jaskier would be unable to the inn.  
He could risk one good night's sleep for Jaskier not to have to. He'd trade away a lot more to have his Jaskier back. It had only been a few days yet it felt like it's been forever since he's seen Jaskier smile or heard him laugh. Two things that could quite possibly be the most beautiful in the world right now. 


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is worse off than Geralt thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW!! Graphic descriptions of self-harm and mentions of past abuse.   
> If you're sensetive to any of this I would skip the entire chapter, I'll leave a summary at the end so you don't miss anything.

Geralt woke up with the sun, packing up his make-shift camp in silence, on he once was used to, and dreaded having to get used to again, even if ultimately it was inevitable, Jaskier was only human, but he hoped he'd have a few more decades with him. 

He shook the thoughts from his mind, trying not to distract himself as he walked into a fight. Banishing thoughts from his mind had become second nature as he grew into being a witcher, distractions could cost him his life, and he had to get back to Jaskier alive, despite the fact that it felt impossible to get the man out of his head. 

Even so, he's managed, found the drowners and took them out, his mind set solely on the task at hand as he easily maneuvered around, and cut down each and every, ugly one of them.   
There were eleven of them in total, it took a little under ten minutes to rid the world of them, compared to Geralt they were slow, didn't attack all at once and were therefore easy to handle. He came out of it unscathed, if not a bit more blood covered than he had been. 

The final scan of the lake concluded that it was clear of monsters and once again safe for the town to use for whatever they used it for. 

He put one of the drowner's decapitated heads into a bag to bring back as evidence that the job was done, carrying it along with all the other supplies he's brought for the hunt, which included the bare minimum needed for a single night stay. Food (dried meat), his swords, a few potions and a salve in case things went sideways, and his coin purse. 

With these things in tow he gained a new appreciation for Roach, putting it in his mind to bring her some sugar cubes and apples when he returned.

*****

Jaskier also woke up with the sun, seeing as he'd fallen asleep long before nightfall the day before and slept through the night. 

He felt like he hadn't woken up at all like he wasn't human, or like he didn't even exist. He'd accept any of these excuses to blame his lack of feeling on. He'd once have said he felt like a ghost, but after encountering a specter with Geralt he's even lower than a ghost; he's nothing at all. 

Jaskier found that he prefers fake emotions, forced ones to nothing at all, and now he finds that it's impossible to imagine a future where he feels again real or make-believe. 

He shot up in bed, ignoring his impending headache from moving far too fast without anything in his system, and realized he was something akin to scared, fear without the actual bite of feat, the thought of fear, knowing that if he wasn't so horribly numb he would be terrified, like a bitter taste in the back of this throat.

Standing up and walking like a drunkard who had no control over his body, he automatically moved towards his pack, unsheathing the dagger from its place hidden in the pack. It was the one thing he'd kept with him from that godforsaken place he used to call home.   
He'd needed it once before when Julian lost the ability to feel. Music had saved him then and he hadn't picked up the dagger in years, but now the music wasn't enough, he had nothing, no reason to hold back when he knew the relief this would bring upon himself. He had no fear of pressing too hard, at least then it could count as an accident and he wouldn't have the end he always dreaded. 

He layed his arms over the rim of the tub, pulling back his sleeves revealing the mess Julian had left behind all those years ago. Geralt had asked him about the scars once before, guessing what they were with one look. He lied and said they were scars from his mother bringing a leather strap, down against him when he acted out of line. It wasn't fully a lie, as a noble he'd had high expectations placed on him from the second he was born, expectations he'd never met and his parents were cruel as a result. They'd never left visible marks, nowhere anyone would ever be able to see like the backs of his thighs, these marks though, were his own. Geralt had bought the story, seeing no reason not to believe him and never brought it up again. 

Without another dangerous thought of his past, he brought the blade down gently on the inside of his wrist, making a small cur that only broke enough skin to cause blood to the surface in pinpricks, getting used to the feeling again. 

He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding when the sting rang through the small area around the nicked skin. It felt no worse than a parchment cus, but it felt.   
So he did it again, deeper this time, the blood surfacing in a line and steadily bleeding for a few seconds before it reduced to the same pricks of blood as before. 

This one had made the bitter fear wash out of his mouth, replacing it with a true, strong feeling, he could feel it burning and could feel the hot blood leaving his arm, dropping into the water below tinting it for a few moments. It proved to him that he was still alive and had even a minuscule effect on the world around him, and he could feel. It felt like a breath of fresh air in a dusty room. 

He kept going until his fingers sparkled, tingling and his arm had precise lines up and down, getting deeper the higher he looked. He made a few lazy cuts on the opposite arm, his abused one too weak to properly grip the dagger, but not wanting to lose the feeling of life rushing through his veins. It was strange to be completely indifferent about his own life or death while clinging to proof that he was still here at the same time. 

Soon he grew too tired to keep it up, letting the blade fall into the water, his head dropping to his chest as he kneeled and let himself bleed into the tub, the water thoroughly tinted pink at this point. His arms stayed there until the tingling feeling traveled up to his elbows, making his arms feel weightless and cramped at the same time. 

Not caring about keeping up his demeanor of 'fine' he simply rolled down his sleeves instead of seeing to the damage. After using the bathroom so he could stay in bed longer, he covered himself with the blankets almost completely, feeling slightly refreshed and no longer thinking of fear, he let himself do more than sleep, his mind could wander, even to the dark places now that he had a grounding point to keep him at this moment no matter how hard the thoughts tried to pull him into a panic, he could stay here in bed, bleeding slowly into the sheets without noticing. 

It's fine, no one would notice anyway. 

*****

The contract holder grimaced and gagged at the sight and smell of Geralt's proof of service, smiling despite his obvious discomfort. He gave Geralt the rest of what he's owed and thanked him once more. It had been an ideal contract, a quick, painless removal or monsters, good coin, and an actually sincere form of gratitude, no being forced out of the town the second their problem was dealt with. Despite the warm welcome, he didn't stick around any longer than it took to retrieve his coin, more eager to get back to Jaskier than he was to be celebrated by townsfolk, so eager in fact, that he made it back before nightfall this time. 

He knew better than to expect Jaskier to be singing or even out of the room, and still, he couldn't stop the disappointment from setting in when he returned to a silent tavern. 

"Has the bard been down?" He asked the barmaid, hoping he had at least eaten sometime in the past two days. 

"Haven't seen him," She shrugged, cleaning a tankard as she spoke. 

He ordered to plates of whatever they were serving, telling them to bring it up for the room with a press of coin onto the counter, quickly making his ascent to the room he'd left Jaskier in Yesterday. 

When he walked in he was immediately met with the empty feeling of not being greeted with: 'Geralt!' as Jaskier would jump up and demand a story from him, stories he now wished he'd have told and embellished, it was the very least he could have done, to speak to him.   
Now Jaskier didn't even look at him when he walked in. 

Jaskier was asleep when he got it, curled on his side as if he hadn't moved at all. 

It took until he had unpacked all that he'd brought with him to notice the smell of the room had changed, a hint of iron was heavy in the air. His stomach sunk and his heart was in his throat when he recognized the scent of blood, should have recognized it as soon as he walked in. 

It first led him to the bath, which was filled with old water and diluted blood, as well as a dagger he'd never seen before at the bottom. 

"Jaskier!" He rushed to his side, flipping Jaskier onto his back. The sheets beneath him were brown and red with dried and fresh blood. Jaskier hardly reacted when Geralt kneeled next to him on the bed, only a small sound of protest when he'd been moved left his lips. 

Geralt could hardly think past the fog of fear that he couldn't banish from his mind, terrified that he was too late, berating himself for leaving in the first place, filled with the sinking feeling that this would be the last memory he'd have of Jaskier, lifeless in a pool of his own blood, dying by his own hands while Geralt wasn't there to save him. 

He spotted the sleeves with a once over of Jaskier's body, looking for the source of the bleeding. The once white sleeves were drenched red with blood, so much so that the chemise surely weighed more than it had. 

He shoved them up as far as they'd go, confirming all his fears. Deep, open gashes on his arms.   
They hadn't had enough time to heal so hadn't closed since they'd been inflicted, which explained Jaskier's light-headed, barely conscious state. Too much longer and he'd have been taken by the blood loss. 

"Stay awake Jaskier," He squeezed his wrists enough to gain the smaller man's attention, he winced and met Geralt's eyes, not speaking and there was no way of knowing he'd even heard what Geralt saif, but as long as he didn't go into shock or pass out Geralt could at least treat him without a healer. It was a miracle he hadn't already passed out, the cuts must have been bleeding steadily for hours. 

"I need to stitch these shut," He tried to talk Jaskier through what he was doing, even if he couldn't hear Geralt wanted him to know what was happening, as not to scare him and also to keep himself in the present and out of his own head. He was afraid if he lost focus his fear would consume him and he would hurt Jaskier, he wasn't used to treating anyone but himself.  
He also wasn't used to the panic that was rising in himself each time he looked at Jaskier. 

He was horribly pale, looked sickly and half gone already. The sight, paired with knowing that Jaskier was suffering enough to do this was enough to bring him to his knees. 

He grabbed what supplied he would need and sat back on the bed, stripping Jaskier of his ruined shirt. 

"This is going to sting," He met Jaskier's dull eyes each time he spoke, his voice shaking ever so slightly as he tried not to imagine those eyes this dull forever. Those eyes were meant to be bright. 

Gaining no response he poured a potion onto his arms, it sizzled a bit upon contact. Jaskier tightened his jaw but didn't respond beyond that. Geralt was surprised and relieved that he could even still feel his arms. 

He poured the rest of the concoction onto the other arm, letting it work for a few minutest hat dragged on like hours until it successfully stopped the bleeding. The smaller cuts began to scab over, the potion speeding up the healing process, but not enough to close the deeper cuts, those he would have to do manually. 

Geralt used the discarded shirt to gently dab the remaining blood off his arms, getting a clearer view of the damage. They weren't horrible, all superficial, but it was a near thing and hardly mattered with the amount of blood he'd lost anyway. If Jaskier had been even a bit more reckless he would have hit a vein, most certainly would have been dead long before Geralt got back. 

The image of Jaskier motionless and gone, bled out by his own will while Geralt was gone stuck in his mind, and he thanked whatever gods existed that Jaskier was alive, he tried to make a vow, to do better despite having no idea how he even intended to do so, all he knew was he wouldn't let Jaskier die like this, he couldn't survive such a thing. 

"I'm going to close them now," The gentleness of his own voice came easy, a small step in treating Jaskier the way he deserved, not growling or 'hmming' every time Jaskier spoke to him. 

Maybe if he'd shown Jaskier that he gave a shit, and not let his damn pride get above his friend, maybe he would have told Geralt he felt like this, maybe if Geralt actually cared to listen to him for more than a few minutes at a time he would have noticed that he needed help. 'Maybe' doesn't let him change this, but he'd leave no room for maybe's after. 

God, it hurt to look back and not remember a single time that Jaskier was anything but happy and bubbly, indifferent to Geralt's demeanor and behavior while inside he was anything but.

It hurt worse than anything he'd ever known to shit here, stitching Jaskier, who'd hurt himself enough to nearly lose his life. It hurt to look at Jaskier staring at the wall, not even reacting to the stab of the needle every time it pierced his skin. 

"Almost done Jask," He spoke to himself, losing hope that Jaskier could listen to him even if he wanted to. 

He closed the cuts on both arms, satisfied with his work when he was finished, but despising the sight of it, Jaskier's pale soft skin tainted with blood stains and proof that he was hurting. 

He wrapped his arms in bandages with gentle, comforting hands, holding Jaskier the way he wished he would have long ago, treating him like he was the most precious thing in the world, which Geralt realized, wasn't far off. 

"You can sleep now," 

Jaskier's eyes fell closed immediately, showing that he'd been fighting to keep them open. He'd always been stronger than Geralt ever gave him credit for. 

Geralt sighed and stood up with a pause to look down again at Jaskier, he could almost be fooled into thinking everything was okay. He looked the way he always had when he slept, if not a bit more greasy and pale, and somehow smaller. At least he couldn't hurt in his sleep, a small mercy that allowed Geralt to finally breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Jaskier wakes up worse off than he's been and hurts himself to be able to feel something and prove to himself he's alive. He doesnt treat the wounds and when Geralt comes back he's bleeding out on the bed. Geralt is terrified of losing him, but treats him and they're both alive.   
> The past abuse bit was a vauge description of his parents hurting him when he was younger.   
> (This is a shitty summary but its all you really need to know going forward)


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:// Talk of self harm and very mild descriptions (very mild compared to last chapter)
> 
> I promise this will get happier soon.

Geralt turned away from him, washing the blood off of his hands while subconsciously turning t look at Jaskier every few minutes as if he wouldn't be there if he looked away for too long. 

He isn't used to worrying like this if past him was told that he'd be half-broken, terrified for the happiness of a bard he would have laughed and told them to fuck off. Now, he can't imagine his life any other way than with Jaskier at his side, broken or not. 

But he couldn't help but think, that person in bed, unable to leave other than to hurt himself, that wasn't Jaskier. 

Jaskier is smiles that could put the sun to shame, he's sarcasm and pissing people off for the hell of it. Jaskier is spontaneous songs and dancing while they walked, caring touches and fond words for one who deserved it least, he is all this and so much more that Geralt wants to cherish now like he hadn't then. 

All he had to hold onto now was the few hours of peace Jaskier got while he was asleep. 

He strips the bed of the blood-stained sheets, oh so careful not to wake Jaskier as he moved him onto the uncovered mattress, covering him with a clean fur he'd acquired from the inn-keeper with a few extra coins pressed into his hand.   
He strips himself of his armour and takes up his spot next to Jaskier, lying as close as he dared while not touching him, just looking and listening to the proof that his heart was still beating somewhere inside of him, stupidly wishing he would wake up a little bit mended, a little bit better. With this hope in his mind, he let himself sleep, beside Jaskier where he belonged. 

******

When Jaskier woke up he felt hazy like a fog had spread through his brain, he couldn't remember much of yesterday, he recalled Geralt telling him to sleep but nothing for a few hours before that. 

Of course, he remembers what he'd done, the throbbing in his arms and the shame in his heart made it impossible to forget. The odd thing is that he remembers going to sleep, wearing a shirt, and certainly hadn't bandaged himself up like this. 

The fog in his mind made the realization slow, but dread filled him the second it clicked. He knew Geralt would see, but the reality was much worse than simply knowing. Geralt had found him, probably worse for wear, probably that was an understatement since he couldn't even remember.

It was cruel, to make Geralt come back to that, have to save his life. He found himself sorry for a moment, that Geralt's contract hadn't taken a day longer. But that quickly sorted itself, no matter what he wanted he wouldn't do that, not ever, not while Geralt would have to deal with the aftermath. 

Either way, he had made it back, Jaskier was closer to dead than alive judging by the blood-soaked sheets and shirt in the corner of the room matched with the lingering light-headed headache. Geralt had to see that, had to save him from himself. And he was still here, even after that, sleeping at his side facing Jaskier. Must have been watching him before he drifted off. 

It wasn't right, he shouldn't be here, how could he? It would be so damn easy to leave, there were countless opportunities that had presented themselves to Geralt, and yet he was sleeping at his side.

He looked down at his arms, they felt clamped together, like the skin had gotten tighter, must have needed stitches then. He wasn't surprised.   
And yet, the sight of the bandages brought nausea to his stomach, he felt dirty, guilty, a failure all in one, he wanted nothing more than to tear his fingers into the wrapping and rip the stitches out, to scream and cry and tear at the threads holding him together and float away with the tingling feeling in his fingers when it stings and burns his skin and through his blood. 

His nails dig into the palms, breaking skin enough to draw a bit of blood, the sting wasn't enough but it was something. He squeezed harder until his fingers and knuckles were white and he could feel himself gripping crimson. He clenched his teeth, he doesn't want the pain or the act of it, but it was all he could do to stop himself tearing his arms apart. 

His throat, against his will, let out a small cry against the pressure his entire body was feeling with the strength of his fists, Geralt stirred beside him. He forces his nails as deep as they would go, his arms trembling with the effort. 

"Jaskier?" Geralt had barely woken up when he opened his eyes to see the state Jaskier was in, his eyes shut, tension eating up his entire being. He was shaking, putting all his energy into keeping his fists closed. 

Geralt reached out and took one of said fists into both of his hands,

"Look at me Jaskier," He rubbed his thumb over the back of Jaskier's hand, trying to be a contrast to the tension that was Jaskier, ease it out of him. 

Jaskier opened his mouth as if to reply but all that came out were his desperate puffs of breath, his eyes staying tightly closed. 

"Hey," He removed one hand from Jaskier's and placed it on the side of his face, leaning over him, pain gripping his insides as he tried to find those eyes. 

"Look at me," he repeated, trying to sound stern while still remaining calm, holding Jaskier in both of his hands. 

His eyes slowly eased open, the act clearly a struggle. His pupils were blown wide with fear, his breathing only getting worse when their eyes met. 

"You're okay, just stop this,"

"I'm sorry," Jaskier forced out between attempts at heaving air into his lungs. 

"It's okay, don't be. Just, listen to me, okay?" Jaskier desperately nodded, feeling trapped in his own body as panic took over. He wanted to listen and begged himself to hear Geralt.

"Let go, I'm here."

Something inside of Jaskier gripped onto words. let go, I'm here.   
You don't have to fight anymore, he's here. 

And he could breathe, he could let go and fall. Leave it up to Geralt to catch him, if he could.  
He let go, his body going soft as he fell against the bed, the tension draining from his body. 

"Good, you're doing good Jaskier." 

Geralt reclaimed his hands, examining his palms to see the minor damage, just broken skin, but could get infected just as any open wound could if they weren't cared for. 

"You're okay," He said once again, reassuring them both. 

Jaskier caught his breath and let Geralt wrap his hands in a thin layer of bandages and a salve to keep them clean in case the wrapping wasn't enough. 

"Can I have my shirt?" He asked quietly, staring at the floor. 

"They're both dirty," he answered watching defeat fill his friend's eyes,   
"But you can wear one of mine." He rushed to say, wanting to keep that pain out of those eyes, as much as he could help. 

"Thanks, I just can't look at them," He lifted his arms a bit to show he was talking about the bandages that spanned from his elbows to his wrists. 

Geralt wanted to take it away, to heal him so he wouldn't have to worry about not even being able to look at himself, all he could do was hand over his extra shirt with helplessness filling his veins.

Jaskier offered a small, fake smile in return, something Geralt hated so much more than the blank look that had taken over. Hated it because he had no way of knowing how long Jaskier's smiles had been a lie. 

He pulled the shirt over his head, Geralt usually would have appreciated the sight if it weren't for the context. The shirt fell off his shoulder and hung low around his neck, he looked beautiful, cute even, like he always did, but dimmer, like someone was trying to smother a fire. Geralt could only hope he wouldn't burn out. 

They sat in silence for a few moments while Geralt tried to think of his next course of action, now seemed as good a time as any to start to actually help, now that they were both awake.   
He walked over to the still full bath and pulled the dagger out, moving to put it in his own pack, away from Jaskier. 

"Wait, I won't do it-

"Jaskier," He wouldn't let him hurt himself, even if he painted himself as the bad guy by taking it away, he could live with that if Jaskier could. 

He sat there for a moment, fiddling with the cuffs of Geralt's shirt, the sleeves falling just past his wrists to his palms. 

"Please don't take it away Geralt, I won't do this again, I was - I just," He looked as if he were about to implode, desperately clinging to his words. 

"If I leave you with it I'm checking every day, one slip and I'm taking it. Okay?"

"Okay," He agreed immediately, sinking into himself. He couldn't lose the last piece of who he used to be even if he felt he couldn't hold up his end of the deal if the need struck again. Sometimes it wasn't even his doing, he'd hurt unconsciously, be able to put up no fight against himself. Sometimes he'd wake up with scars he couldn't remember inflicting at all. That was the worst one, having no choice inside his own body, he used to be terrified of killing himself against his own will, while he watched and could do nothing to stop it. 

"You haven't eaten while I was gone," Geralt spoke, breaking Jaskier's train of thought. He'd have phrased it as a question but he knew Jaskier would only lie. 

"I'm not hungry,"

"I didn't ask." 

He wants to be gentle with Jaskier, give him anything he wanted and to care for him exactly the way Jaskier wanted, to sleep next to him for as long as he needed, but he knew Jaskier didn't want to get better. He was tired, Geralt had to be the voice f reason, and if Jaskier hated him after, he'd have to take the risk. It would hurt, but if Jaskier was okay he could handle being hated. 

"I don't think I could hold anything down." He admitted, knowing how it went when he'd forget to eat for days on end then try to re-fill himself. It wasn't pretty. 

"Will you try?"

He simply nodded, giving into anything if he could sleep soon. His stomach was turning with both the thought of food and anxiety, he felt he'd throw up whether he ate something or not.   
He couldn't get the thought of Geralt finding him earlier out of his head, he wanted to care the way Geralt did. Not caring about yourself at all is a sinking feeling that doesn't stop, it's worse still to watch how it's dragging down the person that's still left to care.   
It's watching darkness eat away at you, watching as someone else tries to pull you back from the ledge with no wat to grab their lifeline. 

He rubbed his hands over his dace, ignoring the way it pulled at his stitches, groaning into his palms. He could see Geralt's hands reaching out, trying to carry him out of this and he tried to grab on but the effort strained his tired muscles and he couldn't hold himself up long enough to take a hold of him. 

He could scream until his throat was hoarse with the frustration he was left with. He's never felt more hopeless, like he wasn't worth the trouble to keep.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt gets Jaskier out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is another shorter one but it's also happier than the others so it kinda offsets it.

"Here, drink the water at least if you can't hold down the stew." Geralt placed the mug of water in his hands, watching as he took a small sip, the water creating a cold spot in his empty stomach. 

Geralt stayed silently watching until he took a few more hesitant drinks, satisfied when a third of the cup was empty. 

"Just drink the broth, it won't upset your stomach as much," They swapped the mug and bowl respectively, Jaskier mumbling a soft 'thanks' as he grimaced at the food. 

He slowly sipped the broth out of the stew, the warmth it left inside a pleasant change from the cold emptiness. Geralt sat with him and ate his own significantly larger meal, downing the rest of Jaskier's as well when he couldn't hold anymore. 

"How do you feel?" 

"I've been better," He answered, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. 

"Hmm," He thought for a moment, "Come one."

He stood up, opening the door and holding it ajar, waiting for Jaskier to follow like he usually did without being asked. 

"I really don't think I should," He tried to argue, leaning further into the headboard. 

"Trust me, we'll come back if it's too much and you can sleep for as long as you want." Jaskier debated telling him that the mere thought f leaving the room was too much, but he wanted to keep Geralt with him for a little longer before he realized he wasn't worth it. He'd pushed himself for Geralt before, he could stand a short walk outside. 

He pushed himself up on tired legs, Geralt's lips quirked up slightly, just enough for Jaskier to deem the unwanted journey worth it. 

They remained silent as Geralt leas them out of the inn, Jaskier trying his best to ignore the looks he was receiving The last time these patrons had seen him he was performing, a completely different person, he could hardly blame them for the whispers. He must look a sight, unkempt and dressed in Geralt's shirt rumors would surely spiral.

Geralt, however, spared no thought to the whispers before sending icy glares at anyone who dared even look at Jaskier, making sure the latter didn't notice. 

He brought them outside and into the stables, Roach whinnied happily when she saw the bard, Geralt knows she's grown a soft spot for Jaskier, just as he had. 

"Hey girl," Jaskier spoke quietly, running his fingers through her mane. 

She bumped her head against Jaskier's shoulder fondly. Geralt watched from the side, happy to see Jaskier at least content as he stroked along her neck and sides. He gave them a few more minutes before they continue walking. He had no real plan, just wanted Jaskier to leave the room and take in a bit of fresh air, even if it wore him out, he needed to see that he was still part of the world. 

"Come on," He spoke, turning away without a response, knowing Jaskier would follow him. 

"Where?" He asked simply, one-word conversations with the bard were still strange, Geralt was hardly getting used to being the talkative one. 

"Anywhere," He answered, slowing his walking pace so he and Jaskier were side by side. He looked for the quickest way out of town, sensing that even the most unrelated glances in their direction made Jaskier more and more anxious, his fists subconsciously beginning to close again at his sides. 

Geralt brushed the back of his hand against Jaskier's meeting his eyes in a silent question, Jaskier's eyes widened a bit in surprise, but he nodded, opening his hand for Geralt to take. 

"You won't hurt me," He said as if it were an explanation, letting Jaskier squeeze his hand is something felt off, careful not to squeeze back. Jaskier appreciated the weight and warmth, the feeling of being seen and cared for was overwhelming. He accepted the feeling and the two walked hand in hand out of the town. 

The air was cool, a slight breeze biting into the exposed parts of Jaskier's skin, it made him feel real. The continent proving he was alive in such a simple way. He took a deep breath in and looked up to Geralt, turning away before the witcher could meet his eyes, not sure what he was looking for. Maybe a glimpse of truth, of all that was going on inside of that mind, why he was trying so hard to reach him. 

They stopped walking when the path opened up to a small clearing, there was a field of flowers spanning as far as the land could reach, an ocean of blues, yellows and strong purples. The wind moved them in a way that made it look like the land itself was shifting, the flowers floating with the movement. It was amazing, such simple magic in a place that had none. 

And yet, Geralt had hardly spared it a glance, opting instead to watch Jaskier.   
His jaw was slack, eyes wide as they stared at the sea of colours in front of him. He didn't look tired for the first time in a week, he looked like his usual awe-inspired self. Geralt has never seen anything as beautiful.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, taking in all there was to see, Geralt content to stand there as long as Jaskier would, he'd stand there with him forever if the wonder never left his eyes. 

Jaskier fell out of his trance, slowly walking closer to the field, Geralt going willingly with the pill of his hand. 

"This is amazing," He breathed, eyes still wide and taking in the flowers. Geralt smiled at him,

"It is," He replied, speaking not of the flowers, giving Jaskier's hand a gently squeeze, gaining his attention to see that face head-on. 

Jaskier looked at him, Geralt was smiling. Not his usual small uplifting of the corners of his mouth, a true smile, his eyes glowing like the sun's reflection off a buttercup, he remembered with the warmth of his eyes how much it hurt to fall in love with him, and how he really didn't care as long as he was the one who got to see him like this, got to stand beside him. 

"Thank you, he whispered, smiling back. His eyes lighting up enough for Geralt to know it was real. 

***

A few hours passed, just as next to the flowers enjoying the silence between them. Jaskier leaned against Geralt's shoulder, taking what comfort he could while they were both willing. 

Geralt reached for one fo the blue forget-me-nots in front of him idly, stopped in his tracks by a frantic hand grabbing his wrist. He stopped immediately, even if he easily could have made it past the weak grip of Jaskier's hand on his. 

"They're more beautiful when they're alive," He explained, responding to Geralt's questioning look, pulling Geralt's hand back. 

"So are you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter coming soon, probably tomorrow


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this story and I'm actually kinda proud of how this chapter turned out so I hope you like the ending too

Geralt's words stuck in Jaskier's mind, not for the reason he thought they would. It was clear that Geralt didn't want him to die, so hearing those words didn't come as a shock to him, and Geralt being kind was new but what really got to him was, no ones called him beautiful before, not like that. 

Sure, he'd been called beautiful by women in brothels and bars, men who were drunk and entitled, people who couldn't keep their hands to themselves. He's been called beautiful in mocking ways when he dressed too flashy, with revealing clothes and golden rings on his fingers, but never like this. 

Geralt had looked him in the eyes and said it so easily, without want or cause, honest, like it was more a belief than a statement. When Jaskier had blue and purple bruises under his eyes, his face pale and his hair messy, unwashed and untamed, dressing in Geralt's oversized shirt, he'd looked at him and called him beautiful. 

He wanted to believe Geralt has lied, it wasn't fair to not see through the words and find it coated in lies, he hated how Geralt had meant it. 

Geralt saw something that no one else ever has, something he can't see. 

Jaskier's never thought he was beautiful, he has thin arms and legs, a bit of a stomach on him, a soft jawline and nothing discerning about his features. He's another face in the crowd, only noticed because of the bright colours, crude lyrics, and loud songs. But he was never beautiful. 

"What are you thinking about?" Geralt asked, he was sat in the corner cleaning his sword, while Jaskier sat in bed leaning against the headboard, clearly lost in thought for quite some time.

That could be dangerous. Usually for him being lost in thought meant he was composing or tying words together, but it was clear he wasn't putting lyrics to music. 

He looked up, his eyes had dulled again since they returned but his body wasn't holding as much tension as it had, he wasn't hiding from Geralt as much. The trip outside had more effect than he'd expected but less than he'd hoped. 

"Why are you still here?" He asked again, staring at his lap. 

"Because you're here." He answered without pause, the truth didn't need the pause of thought. 

"Not really, not who you knew at least,"

"You're still here and this won't last forever. You know that right?" Jaskier shook his head, truthfully he was terrified that this would be it until the end.

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Jaskier responded just as quickly as Geralt had when asked why he'd stayed, no pause needed. 

"I can see it in your eyes. They're dark right now, but earlier they came back to how they used to be. That's how I know. You just need time,"

****

That night Jaskier lie awake beside a sleeping witcher, thinking about all that he'd done and all that he'd meant to do. 

When he first met Geralt it was a half-cocked death wish, he wanted a way out without getting his hands dirty, needed someone to do the heavy lifting for him in the selfish plan of his death. 

Then he followed him because he'd fallen so deeply, stupidly, irreversibly in love with him. He knows it's stupid to, without a doubt or thought, give yourself so completely to someone, a witcher at that. But it was hardly a choice to love all of Geralt. 

It hurt like all Hell to love him, but it's real, truth in the lie that's been his life for as long as can remember, and he wouldn't trade his love for peace, or happiness.   
He'd keep his love if it was the only thing he could own. 

And now, Geralt is following him, because somehow, past all the shit, lie, hurt, and heart-wrenching loss, he saw Jaskier, the reak him and somehow believes he'll be okay. 

How he could deny Geralt of this didn't even cross his mind. The way Geralt looked at him, in his eyes and past everything, all his defenses and saw someone fighting to come home made him feel like there was a chance. 

Watching him now, sleeping beside him like he's been doing it for years, Jaskier realized,

He wants to live. He wants to wake up next to Geralt and look into those gorgeous, morning glow eyes. 

He wants to feel those arms around him when he can't stop shaking, wants to know the man Geralt really is for as long as he's allowed. He wants to see Geralt and be seen right back. 

Maybe it's all too much to be true, or maybe Geralt was far more than he deserved. 

Either way, he'd fight. 

He'll fight off the monsters that rot in his head, he'll give up for days while Geralt holds him together and he'll be okay. 

He'll come back because Geralt looks into his eyes and sees a fighter that Jaskier's never been. 

He'll be okay because it's temporary with Geralt by his side. 

He'll be okay because when he's not Geralt will still be there like he's always been before. 

For now, he'll do fine, he'll lie closer to Geralt, who'll open his arms and let Jaskier lie his head on his chest, holding him close, wanting him close. 

When he mumbles in his sleepy voice asking is Jaskier's okay, his heart will melt and he'll whisper, 'because you're here,' silently saying thank you, thank you for saving me. 

Geralt will pull him closer, pushing his face into Jaskier's unwashed hair and feel relief ser into his bones because he has Jaskier, and he's alive and he wants Geralt, and he won't respond because it goes unsaid that he wants Jaskeir just as much. 

**Author's Note:**

> Im not trying to romantisize depression I'm projecting and im also soft for caring Geralt and hurt Jaskier.


End file.
